The Jarlaxle Monologues
by AmbrMerlinus
Summary: Jarlaxle takes a page out of Drizzt's book and decides to make his own diary entries.


A portal opened in a nondescript underground chamber. Through the portal came a boot that hit the stone floor with a significant clacking sound. The matching boot that followed was absolutely silent.

Jarlaxle stood in the room, hands on his hips, and surveyed his surroundings. He was reasonably certain that the room's owner was not at home. Were that the case, he would probably be fighting for his life at the moment. Winning, of course, but fighting nonetheless.

The chamber itself was nearly barren, containing a plain bed, a bland closet, and an ordinary desk. On top of the desk was a large, leather-bound book. Jarlaxle made his way towards the book immediately after he spotted it. He pulled out the common chair with a flourish and sat himself down at the desk. Delicately, he lifted the cover of the book and gently set it down on the surface of the desk so that it lay open, the words within it bared to the world.

The words were written with plain black ink in a small, clipped script, obviously meant solely for the conveyance of meaning with no consideration for calligraphy. Jarlaxle clucked his tongue in disappointment, turning the pages as he read them and shaking his bald head.

At long last, he came to a blank page. A smirk spread across his lips. He cracked his knuckles and reached for the quill and ink.

_The stars certainly are awe-inspiring. But recently I have discovered something even better than stargazing:_

Jarlaxle tickled his nose with the fluffy end of the quill as he pondered what to write next.

_...putting babies on spikes. There's just something about the squishy little bodies being forced onto sharpened sticks that I have come to appreciate and yes, even adore. Some would call me barbaric, but that would be an untruth, for the barbarians of the wilderness hold no such customs. Those who would judge my likes and dislikes are simply unenlightened. There is no illness that cannot be cured by stargazing, or by putting babies on spikes._

_Beyond impaled infants, my interests have recently expanded to include a newfound love of trolls. They are truly elegant creatures, with their maggoty flesh and regenerating... everything. It is a pity they are so weak against flame. Perhaps I shall journey to the Trollmoors in the spring, and deliver unto them my icy scimitar, as a gift of protection and a gesture of friendship._

_Also, Jarlaxle is a magnificent specimen of my race. His high-cut vest shows off his spectacular abdomen in simply thrilling detail. I cannot get enough of it. His chiseled features glint magnificently in spectrums of all sorts, and that fabulous hat of his is the perfect headgear for any occasion. It was sheer chance that Catti-brie resisted Jarlaxle's charm in the Underdark and returned to us here at Mithril Hall. I know I would never have been strong enough. Perhaps she simply has no interest in men._

_I am thinking of following in Jarlaxle's footsteps. I know that I myself am not nearly handsome enough to get away with shaving off my flowing locks, but perhaps I could invest in a vest of my own. Either that, or an appropriately expensive pair of boots. The clicky kind are quite nice._

_In conclusion, unicorns are simply passe. I don't know what I was thinking, wearing that stupid pendant for so long. I shall have to burn it._

Jarlaxle ended his entry with an elaborate flourish, then produced a gold-embroidered silk fan to dry the ink. Satisfied with his work, he opened another portal and disappeared.

* * *

A few days later, Drizzt returned to Mithril Hall. He visited with his friends, attended a feast in King Bruenor's honor, and finally retired to his chambers. Before climbing into his bed and allowing slumber to overtake him, he sat at his desk and opened his book of essays. He thumbed his way to the next blank page, paused, and went a page back.

The handwriting of the last entry was not his.

Puzzled and mildly alarmed, he skimmed the passage, his eyes getting wider with each sentence. Halfway through the admittedly short entry, he had enough and ripped out the offending page, throwing it into the air, unsheathing his scimitars, and shredding it into miniscule, unreadable pieces before it hit the floor. Satisfied, he sat down again and reached for his quill and ink.

_What turmoil I felt when I first broke my most solemn, principle-intentioned vow..._

* * *

Weeks later, the chamber was empty, and a portal opened in the center of the room. This time, the first boot was silent, and the second one clanked onto the stone. Jarlaxle verily skipped into the room, heading immediately towards the desk and flipping through the leather-bound volume. Finding his previous entry torn out, he frowned slightly and read its replacement. He shook his head and chuckled, reaching for the ink and quill. He crossed out Drizzt's words and began anew.

_Ha ha, disregard that, I suck cock._


End file.
